


Light & Snow

by hangonsilvergirl



Series: Everyone Wants Something They Don't Have [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Gen, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:23:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3087890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangonsilvergirl/pseuds/hangonsilvergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’re still kids, you know,” he said quietly, turning his head to look at Ed. “Just because… I mean. We’re still <i>allowed</i> to be kids. Sometimes.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light & Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the FMA Secret Santa, and [posted on Tumblr](http://hangonsilvergirl.tumblr.com/post/106126255809/light-snow).

It wasn’t often that it snowed in the city.  
  
It rained, and all the time; no matter the season the sky dumped indiscriminate buckets. Rain puddled in dips in the asphalt and rushed down sewer drains, drip drip dripping from eaves and onto tin roofs. Rain matched the sounds of never-sleeping city life, reflecting the neon glow of dive signs and adding a weird sort of ambience to the clacking of high-heels on the street, and to the spin of the tires of corner-cutting cabs. It suited the atmosphere of the endless, nameless faces Ed had come to associate with high-rises and crowds (something hugely off-putting, still, to a alchemic prodigy from the country, who’d rather embodied the phrase ‘big fish in a small pond’). Snow, comparably, seemed weirdly out-of-place, like someone had put it there accidentally, then decided it was too much effort to clean up. That, strings of fairy lights, and a buzzing hubbub that deviated from the usual drone, coloured December in the Amestrian metropolis in a new hue.

“If looks could kill, brother, you’d probably be a serial killer by now.” Alphonse’s voice broke through the fog of Ed’s observations, and he shook his head confusedly.

  
“Huh?”  
  
“You’re looking inappropriately murderous.”  
  
Ed snorted. “Is there _actually_ an appropriate time to look murderous?”  
  
Alphonse made a shrugging motion, armor clanging dimly. The metal radiated cold, and Ed shifted somewhat into his red cloak, pulling it more tightly around him, not that it did much insulating in the weather given his own automail limbs. They were sitting on a roof toward the downtown core, surveying the city’s Yule festival with a combination of apprehension and interest. Or, well, Ed was probably the only apprehensive one of the two of them; he knew that Al would be in the thick of everything if he could be, attempting to live vicariously through his older brother’s taste buds and sense-of-smell (a thought which made Ed’s stomach flip with guilt).  
  
In Resembool, when they’d been little, they’d celebrated Yule with candles in the windows, front doors open to the new year, usually wearing dumb hats that Winry had made for them. They’d set off fireworks, and there’d been cider and heaps of good food. Every year, Granny’d tell the stories of the singing ghosts, and every year, Ed, Al and Winry pretended not to be scared stiffless. Ed wondered, briefly, if Granny was telling Winry the stories tonight; if they were sitting at the fireplace, drinking warm cider, remembering old times.  
  
Ed felt another guilty flip in his stomach.  
  
Yule in Central City was some massive-seeming undertaking; all the storefronts had come alive in a twinkle of colored, electric lights. There was food and drink for sale on every street corner--roasted nuts, kabobs, powdered donuts--and kids set off cherry bombs everywhere, and ran around squealing delightedly with sparklers in their hands. All that, in itself, was a stark contrast to the usually dower aura the city gave off; topped with a dusting of rare snow, the night was like something straight out of a dream.  
  
They’d only come through for a couple of days; they’d be on their way again soon.  
  
Ed glanced sidelong at the hollow shell that housed his brother’s soul.  
  
He was, still, amazed at how much emotion Al could convey in tone and body language without a flesh body, and without facial expressions. Ed could see, now, the shy sort-of longing in Al’s posture; he leaned unintentionally toward the noise below them, a smile filtering through the softness in the light in his helmet’s eyeholes. He heard Al sigh and harrumphed.  
  
“What?” Al asked.  
  
“You want to drag me down into that circus, don’t you?”  
  
Al shrugged again. “We don’t have to go down if you don’t want to, Ed. It looks like everyone’s having a lot of fun, though, doesn’t it?” Snow was starting to settle on them. It wouldn’t last long; the city was too much of a heat spot to retain it. “You should probably get something to eat, too.”  
  
Ed harrumphed again. “Like I want to support that sort of highway robbery. They’re probably charging 700 cenz for an apple down there.”  
  
If Al had the ability, Ed knew he’d be rolling his eyes. “Oh, _brother_. Have a little more faith in people! Especially this time of year!”  
  
“Pfft,” Ed answered, crossing his arms. “Like people in this stupid city don’t take every opportunity to make an extra buck. Swindlers and opportunists.”  
  
“Being a little more optimistic wouldn’t kill you, you know,” Al said dryly.  
  
“I’m a realist, Al. I’m just telling it like it is.”  
  
“That’s a pretty dower way to see the world. It’s not all _bad_ , brother. There’s good people out there. Do you--” he paused. “Do you remember going door-to-door with Winry when we were little? Singing songs, and neighbors giving us hot chocolate and cookies?”  
  
“We’re not in the country anymore, Al. And we’re not kids anymore, either.”  
  
“Not only good people live in the country, and not only bad people live in places like this,” Al countered. “The world’s not so black and white as all that.”  
  
“I don’t think you’re seeing it for what it is.”  
  
“I don’t think that you are, either.”  
  
They were both quiet for a moment after that.  
  
A whip of wind circled around them, carrying laughter up from the street below. Somewhere, music started playing, and people started singing in jovial, mismatched harmonies. Ed heard Al sigh happily.  
  
“We’re still kids, you know,” he said quietly, turning his head to look at Ed. “Just because… I mean. We’re still _allowed_ to be kids. Sometimes.”  
  
Ed thought that maybe they’d given up that right. But he didn’t say anything.  
  
“Hey… brother?”  
  
“Yeah, Al?”  
  
“What do you think Winry and Granny are doing tonight?”  
  
In spite of himself, Ed smiled. He was so focused on their mission, on their promise to each other, that he barely gave moments to think of or wonder about or miss their old life, or Winry, or Granny. He thought, sometimes, that he owed them both a little more than he gave them, but, in his mind, there just really wasn’t room to deviate from his single-minded commitment. He had to get Al’s body back, and he knew they understood that. Still…  
  
“Maybe we should call them,” he heard himself say.  
  
Al looked at him with clear surprise.  
  
“And grab the most expensive kielbasa I’ll ever eat, probably. Since we’ll have to go down there to find a stupid phone.”  
  
“Really, brother?!” Al’s voice bobbed with excitement, and the idea of pleasing his little brother so much lodged in Ed’s throat, making him scowl. “I’ll bet there’s crackers! We could even grab some fireworks, and set them off like we used to!”  
  
“Don’t get carried away,” Ed warned as the wind gusted again, making his teeth chatter. “Ugh, at least it should be warmer down there.”  
  
“You’re the one who suggested perching on the rooftops like a pair of wayward vigilantes,” Al said, amused, pulling himself up to stand and then holding a hand out to help Ed. “I know you want to look cool, Ed, but freezing your butt off on a roof in December _really_ isn’t that.”  
  
“Oh, shut up,” Ed said, clamoring upright. “And wipe that stupid smirk off your face.”  
  
“Suits of armor can’t smile, brother,” Al _almost_ sing-songed.  
  
“Yeah, but you still do. Are. Oh for-- You know what I mean!”  
  
Al sniggered.  
  
“Shut up,” Ed said again. “And come on. Before I change my mind.”  
  
The snow began coming down heavier then, in thick flakes, accented both by the artificial light of the city, and by muted beams of moonlight. Music and laughter carried in the air, infectious, filtering through the streets like a shared old memory, of something wonderfully intangible that started in your toes and kept you warm for days. Ed and Al scaled down a rusted, sliding ladder and joined the throng of Yule celebrators--a suit of armor with a bounce in his step, a resigned adolescent slouching in his wake--blending into the life of the city.  



End file.
